


The Pink Crayon

by AwkwardPotatoe



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alex becomes Reggie's first friend, Anxiety, Bobby has a brief cameo, Elementary School, First Day, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, This is more angsty then I intended it to be, alex is a total wreck, clearly, pre-Hotdogs, reggie unintentionally helps him through it, they havent met Luke nor Bobby yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardPotatoe/pseuds/AwkwardPotatoe
Summary: Alex Mercer has recently moved to LA and is about to start his first day of 5th grade. He's anxious and can barely function
Relationships: Alex & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Back to the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing, sorry if it sucks.

Alexander "Alex" Mercer was a deeply conflicted individual. 

He was when he was little, and even now as a soon-to-be fifth grader, and when he died..

Well, he'd be a deeply conflicted individual then, too.

But that would be later on, and right now he was ten and a quarter, about to begin fifth grade, felt as if he was going to throw up, and was a completely, deeply conflicted individual.

"Alexander, dear," his mother called out from the driver's seat.

Alex's head snapped up. They were in his mom's small, lily white car. It's not like it needed to be big, if his whole family needed to go somewhere they'd just take his dad's van. It was large enough for his mom, his dad, his older brother, his older sisters, and him. As well as his dog, on occasion. However right now, they were in his mom's small, lily white car and while at times it felt cozy and safe, right now it just made him feel cramped and sick.

_Cramped and sick.._ , he thought to himself.

"Alex, honey, are you there?," his mother called out from the driver's seat once again.

“Uh- Yeah?” 

“Yeah?” she responded in a stern manner

“Yes ma’am?” he corrected himself

“It's time.”

He quickly turned to look out the window. It was true, they were at the front of the drop-off lane. 

_OhgodOhgodOhgod-_

Before he could collect his thoughts he was already out the car with his mother waving him goodbye. He was already walking up to the school, other kids running past him as if it were a race to see who could get in first.

And Alex? Alex was on the verge of tears, with a pit-like feeling at the bottom of his stomach, clinging to the strings of his new backpack for the sake of his dear life. He felt like everyone was staring, as if they all hated him for something he should’ve been ashamed of but had no clue as to what it was he should’ve been ashamed of in the first place. He shut his eyes tight, and felt his heart inside of his chest beating like thunder.

Maybe wearing white today wasn't such a good idea?

It’s not like he would have even gotten a choice though, because in his father’s words: **_“A young man should always look presentable.”_ **

Alex shortly arrived at the glass door that shelters the front of the school. He could just barely make out his own reflection as the world spun in a dizzy haze around him. He studied himself briefly before coming to a clear decision:

**He didn’t look very presentable.**

He looked so uncomfortable. He was wearing a white polo shirt, black dress shoes, and khakis. _Khakis_. Maybe he’d look better if he were wearing black slacks, but then again who wore dress pants to school? Probably the kid wearing black dress shoes. 

He sighed at himself and made a mental note to stop wearing dress shoes to school.

He looked down at his hands, which were still clinging to the strings off his new backpack for the sake of his dear life. They were devoid of any color, the blood not having space to move around his palm. Instead the blood collected at the ends of his now pinkish-red fingertips, which were scratched and scared and agitated as a result of him fiddling with them in the car. He never meant for it to become a habit, but whenever he became anxious he would have to start doing at least something with his hands if he didn't want to self-combust.

So he fiddled and picked, and plucked, and pinched at his fingertips inside of his mom’s formerly-cozy, formerly-safe, cramped, sickening, small, lily white car til he somehow felt a little better about whatever situation had caused this reaction in the first place.

**God, he wished he knew what was wrong with him.**

Next his attention turned to his face. He looked okay there, at least. He recently had gotten his braces off, although it’s not like he really needed them that much. It’s just that the last of his baby teeth came out back then, and his mother must’ve really wanted him to have “perfect teeth” for that “perfect image” for the “perfect son” for his “perfect family”.

At first Alex believed that he’d love getting his braces off, that the day he got them off would be like heaven. It's what he wished for the second he got those dumb things on. But that day came yesterday and he still wasn't used to it. It’s not like he didn't like having them off. They were annoying and cold and frustrating to deal with and he didn't like having to brush his teeth differently than how he used to beforehand. 

But he guessed he got used to them. Because he’d been wearing them for a year and a half and now he doesn’t know how to feel without them. Maybe those cold, annoying, and frustrating pieces of metal formerly attached to his near-perfect teeth were more comforting than he’d care to admit.

His thoughts were interrupted with the small creak of the bathroom door. Alex looked around, confused. He was standing in front of one of the bathroom’s sinks. He assumed that at some point he had miraculously found his way to the bathroom during his spiral, which was good because if he’d been standing and staring at the school's entrance for that long with that much silence then he’d might as well die from embarrassment. 

Time must’ve skipped because the kid who had just barely entered the bathroom was already at the sink, next to Alex, washing his hands. The two tried to sneak looks at each other before immediately looking away, as if nothing had happened. As if neither had noticed the other’s behavior. The energy in the room- well it was awkward to say the least. Maybe it was due to the fact that two in question were non-social, terribly awkward people. 

Alex’s eyes darted back to the guy next to him, who was now struggling to get paper towels. He appeared to be in the same grade as Alex, so maybe they’d properly meet each other in a few minutes. He was wearing a light blue flannel over a black shirt. On his head was a bright orange beanie that was way too big for him, which let his untidy jet-black strands of hair fall from behind his ears. He completes the look with raggedy, dark blue jeans and worn-out tennis shoes.

Definitely interesting to say the least.

The boy looked like he opened his mouth to say something, but instantly shut it to avoid possibly saying something embarrassing. Which was something that Alex could relate too much to. 

And just like that, the boy was gone before he knew it.

The door shut with a creak as loud as when it opened. Alex let out a long awaited sigh. He check a clock on the wall

**7:58**

If he didn’t leave now- or run now, for that matter- he’d be late.

So he tried his best to gather up his emotions and exit the bathroom with some sort up hope of looking confident. He ran looking for room numbered seventy-six and was thirty seconds from being late.

It wasn’t his proudest moment, but he ran through that hallway and slid into the classroom just in time.

However, his victory was short-lived.

He turned around to face forty or so faces staring at him and judging him, unable to look away until they found another distraction. 

And in a time span of less than a second, he was on the verge of tears again, with a pit-like feeling at the bottom of his stomach, clinging to the strings of his new backpack for the sake of his dear life with his scarred, picked, plucked, pinched, pink fingertips like an awkward, unperfect, brace-less, khaki-wearing, uncomfortable, about-throw-up, ashamed, newly-in-fifth-grade, ten and a quarter, completely, and deeply conflicted individual.

_Crap._


	2. What Happens When That Spark Dies Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Look into Reggie's past of friendship

**September 1st, 1988 - Mrs. Wilson's Classroom**

Reggie didn’t have many friends.

Or any friends, for that matter.

He was hopeful for today, though. But would that change anything? Was he not hopeful in the years prior?

In his defense, making friends was hard when you were always moving.

Reggie could never really figure out why, but it seemed like his family could never really stay in one place for longer than a few months. 

So Reggie may have decided making friends wasn’t really his specialty. Which was weird because he was always referred to as “special.”

Initially that may sound like a good thing, but he doesn’t really know anymore, because whenever people said it, it didn’t really sound like a good thing?

_I’ll figure it out eventually_

So, yeah. Not really the best at making friends

It was a nice thought though, actually. Y’know, making friends. Maybe then he would have someone to talk about Star Wars with. Or maybe he could run around and simply just play together, doing whatever. It didn’t matter what it was, because Reggie would be happy as long had a friend. Maybe then he would have someone you genuinely cared about what he was saying. Or someone who came to his birthday parties. Maybe it wouldn’t be like the years prior, when he’d stay up all night writing hand-made invitations for everyone in the class, even the teacher, but in the end nobody came. Reggie just stood on his front porch, with a balloon and a birthday hat. For hours he just stood. Even when his mom, with sadness in her eyes would try telling him “Sweetie, I don’t think anyone’s gonna make it,” he just stood there. Ignoring the truth. That nobody actually cared, or liked him for that matter. Maybe that’s why he wanted a friend. Someone who’d actually, y’know, like him. Maybe then he would have someone who didn’t yell at him. Someone who knew he was trying to do his best- 

Actually that was kind of a problem. He was _trying_ . He was _trying_ so very, very hard. Which in hindsight, barely makes any sense because the main phrase of _Star Wars_ was indeed “Do or Do not, there is no _try_ ”

Which wasn’t really something Reggie wanted to hear. Anyways, maybe he’d have someone who didn’t get mad at him for rambling on about something that in most cases probably didn't even make sense. Or, heh, someone who smiled at him, or hugged him when he was down. Maybe someone who actually cared about him...

Or maybe he was just being silly.

It **_was_ ** a nice thought though

But deep down he was convinced that maybe the world wasn’t as good as he hoped. _Maybe poor old Reginald was simply not meant for friendship, as his path of pre-determined greatness would leave no room for friends._

Reggie snickered at himself for narrating that in an old and wise storyteller voice.

“What are you laughing at, butthead,” he heard coming from the desk behind him.

_Right_ . Maybe this was why Reggie didn’t have any friends. _Alright, starting to feel less hopeful._

_Friends are a nice thought_ , he said to himself.

Reggie looked around, desperately trying to find something to do while waiting for class to start. He begged his mom to not drop him off twenty minutes early but _nOooOo._ He looked at the clock near the board.

**7:58**

His eyes became fixed on a nearby pencil on the floor, which he took and began beating out a pattern on his desk. The pencil itself was pretty sweet. It was an epic shade of blue with a nice, fresh, white eraser. On the pencil’s blue wrapping was tiny doodles of stars and what looked like a music note. So yeah, pretty sweet pencil. Reggie had been thumping out a rhythm for about a minute now, and he was really getting into it.

The problem, however, came when Reggie subconsciously started adding vocals.

“Shut up dork,” another kid yelled from across the room

Reggie immediately stopped and looked down in shame. _Right._ Whatever spark was in Reggie all these years was almost out.

So yeah, Reggie didn’t have many friends or any friends, for that matter. Maybe he’d never make any friends because he sucked at it. Maybe he really was destined to live life alone, Maybe he’d spend every birthday alone. Maybe it actually _wasn’t_ hard and he was just making excuses to make himself feel better about being a failure. Maybe, in actuality, Reggie knew nothing about friendships.

But what Reggie _did_ know was how to be a good person.

Which was why when he saw everyone staring at some tall, blond boy who looked like he was going to puke standing in front of the door, he knew he had to do something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does any of this make sense haha


End file.
